


Steadier Footing

by facewithoutheart



Series: Inspired by lyrics [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Simon is a little into Baz's "pep talks", Verbal Slapdown-Pitch style, also this is prob not british enough but eh, but only after Baz lays some theatrical smackdown on simon's moody ass, dunnuhnuhnuhbatwings, seriously penny does not get enough credit, simon is a cliched english major, slightly OOC simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facewithoutheart/pseuds/facewithoutheart
Summary: Simon and Baz reconnect at an end-of-term party for Simon, five years after the events of Wayward Son.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Inspired by lyrics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038526
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Pure Angst

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear with me: I swear this gets happier/more fun in the next chapter, which I will likely post in the next few days.

**Simon**

It’s taken every ounce of my self-control not to fall apart tonight.

Seeing him again…

I mean, I’m glad he came. I’m  _ glad _ I saw him again. 

He looked good, but then again, he always did. Does. Will. It’s hard to suss out the correct tense here, when there are so many unknowns.

I barely spoke to him tonight; just long enough to make a fool of myself. I asked him about his classes (he’s already graduated, of course), how his family was doing in Hampshire (they’ve moved permanently to Oxford, which I should have remembered for obvious reasons), and if he liked the peanut butter cookies I made (even though I know I forgot the vanilla extract and they tasted like stale bread).

He said he was considering graduate school, his family now prefers Oxford, and he loved the cookies.

I didn’t believe a word of it; I don’t know why he was being so nice to me.

But it’s all over. The party, I mean. Him and I, too. But that’s been a done deal for five years. Ever since we got back from America. Ever since I told him I could never love him (a lie, the biggest lie I’ve ever told, the only lie I’ve been able to pull off with my honest face).

Sitting on the front porch of Penny’s and my house, I say goodbye to the last of our guests. I press my toes into the wood of the deck, and push the porch swing back. Then, I release the friction and glide forward. Repeat.

It must be a night of house parties, given the traffic of drunk revelers stumbling back to their homes. That’s what we get for renting in the student part of town. I suppose it is the end of the semester, after all. That’s why Penny and I are celebrating. Partly because the term has ended, mostly because I went back at all. I’m a few years behind, but, when haven’t I been? I don’t have much pride left to offend. I’ve got dragon wings, for Merlin’s sake.

There’s a group of friends straggling down the middle of the street, arms slung over each other. A couple walks behind them, holding hands, leaning into each other slightly. You have to look really close to tell that their shoulders touch.

I envy all of them.

A plank squeaks. My hand moves to my hip instinctively and nothing materializes. The Sword of Mages still never comes to me. I know this, but the knowledge never stops me from trying.

“Relax, Snow. It’s just me,” He says, stepping out of the shadow from one of our front pillars.

I do the exact opposite of what he commands; I think even the strands of my hair tense up.

“Baz,” I gasp, stopping the swing in its movements. “How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugs. “Long enough, I suppose.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” I glower.

“If anything’s going to give you a heart attack, it’ll be all the butter, scones and roast beef you ate while at Watford,” He sneers.

I’ve forgotten how sexy his sneers were. Although, they were sexier when I had the privilege of kissing them into smiles.

I shake my head. That’s not a line of thought I need to trace tonight.

“I thought you’d already left,” I add.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares out into the night. I stare at him, and I wonder if he sees what I see. Something he doesn’t have. 

Something he wants.

Maybe this is my chance. To right past wrongs. To correct my lie. To confess.

“So, tell me about your job,” I ask.

Maybe not.

**Baz**

I don’t know how I got here. Sitting next to Simon on his front porch, pushing back and forth on a swinging chair I really, really hope he didn’t install himself. Telling stories about my co-workers that have Simon doubled over in laughter.

Crowley, it’s good to see him smile.

“Her name was not Pollyanna,” He laughs.

I smirk. “Well, it was something equally awful and American. So he says,” Here I put on my most Southern American accent possible-it’s terrible and nowhere near accurate, but Simon seems to love it, “‘Pollyanna, you put your sister on the phone right now.’ And sure enough, Pollyanna’s sister gets on the phone. Then, he says, ‘Now, sugar. Did you steal Pollyanna’s Polly Pockets? You know you’re not supposed to play with them. Daddy got you your own Polly Pockets, so you go play with those, ok? Otherwise, I’m going to have to take all of the Polly Pockets away, and then neither of you will have any Polly Pockets for playtime.’”

Tears are streaming down Simon’s face, eyes closing with sheer joy every time I say “Polly Pockets”. I add in a couple of extras for good measure. I really don’t think this story is that funny, but I’ll tell a million more just like it if he keeps laughing this way.

“It’s just-” He gasps. “I’m trying to picture this grown man having a conversation about Polly Pockets in the middle of the day at work like it’s the most serious thing in the world.” Eventually, his breathing gets a little less labored. 

We look at each other. I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing. If we’re both wondering what would have happened to us if the worst problem we’d ever faced was as small as who got to play with the Polly Pockets. It’s a silly thing to wonder, and an even sillier thing to break my heart.

I break eye contact first.

He leans back, and the movement shifts the chair enough that I fall backwards as well.

“Is he your friend?” Simon asks.

I twist my head back to him and raise an eyebrow. “The middle aged man who screams at his daughters about Polly Pockets at three in the afternoon, before he leaves for home hours before the rest of us?” I scoff. “No, he’s not my friend.”

I’ve been a little harsh. I like the man. I like that he cares about his daughters. That he’s not afraid to prioritize them at work. That he’s stunting his career trajectory to make time for his family. I just don’t like how seeing him leave early makes me feel. It reminds me that he has a family waiting for him at home, a family who wants him near more than they want him to be ‘successful’.

“I don’t have many friends at work,” I confess.

“What about minions?” He asks, eyebrows waggling.

I laugh. “No minions.” Then, I level a stare at him. “Yet.”

He smiles back. It’s still as bright as the sun, but I don’t feel like it’s going to light me on fire anymore. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

“I have a few friends at school, but I wonder why I bother,” He stops the swing. I wonder if he knows he’s done it. “After all, I never talk to Rhys or Gareth anymore. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen them in ages. It just makes me wonder.”

There’s a silence. “Wonder what, Snow?” I prod. I don’t want this night to end, even though I’m terrified of what he might say every time he opens his mouth.

He shrugs. “I wonder what the point is. We’re not going to be friends when we graduate. If I even graduate. Like Rhys and Gareth, we’ll all drift apart without the structure of school to bind us together. And then, what? I’ll get a job and make friends there. But either they’ll leave, or I’ll get another job, and the cycle continues.” He fidgets in his back pocket for something. “An endless revolving door of relationships that never last.” 

I want to ask how Penny fits in this spiral of loneliness he seems resigned to, where I fit in. Instead, I watch him pull out, of all things, a pack of cigarettes. Placing it in his mouth, he offers the rest of the pack to me. I take one. Reluctantly.

“I quit last year,” I confess, bringing it up to my lips. He holds the lighter out for me first and I inhale. This shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does. I chase the thought with a long drag. “But I never knew _you_ smoked,” I say, exhaling with the words.

“I started about the same time as I went back to school,” He says, looking out into the night.

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. He doesn’t disappoint.

“It reminds me of how my magic used to smell,” He admits, flicking ash off his cigarette onto the floor in front of him.

It takes my entire body of self-control to swallow the words,  _ That’s exactly why I quit _ .

**Simon**

I don’t know why I’m in such a morose mood.

Morose. What would Baz think if he knew I used such words casually, now that I’m an English major of all things? He’d probably mock me.

I wouldn’t mind. Sometimes, I mock me, too.

Except, I know exactly why I’m in a morose mood, don’t I? I’ve drained my coffers of will and resilience for the night. All I have left is the emptiness I feel without him in my life, combined with the sweet agony of having him next to me.  _ For now _ , I remind myself.

“I bet you didn’t think you’d end this night talking about the futility of life and self-destructive coping mechanisms,” I smile at my feet.

He laughs. “That’s exactly what I thought I’d end up talking about tonight.” He bumps my shoulder. “I just didn’t think it would be with  _ you _ .”

I’d like to stay here all night, talking with Baz like it’s easy. Like it hasn’t been hurting since the moment I saw his face again. 

Who am I kidding? I’d like to stay here forever. Pain or not.

But there’s no point. Damage done, and all that. Everyone leaves, in the end. Why delay the inevitable?

Penny would disagree, of course. “I stayed,” She’d argue. Has argued. Endlessly. I’m pretty sure that on my deathbed (because of course I’ll die before Penny, that’s been inevitable since day one of our friendship), her last words will be, “See, Simon? I stayed.  _ You’re _ the one who's leaving  _ me _ .”

I smile at the thought, morbid as it is. It doesn’t change my mind. Nothing will. Baz was meant to leave me, and he’ll only do that if I push him away. It’s better that way. So, I do what I’m good at.

“Well, it’s probably time for me to head in,” I say, stubbing my cigarette out on the arm of my chair. He does the same. Then, we trash our butts in a little jar I keep by the front door. Standing in the entryway of my house, I turn to him, and I say, “I hope you have a good life, Baz. You deserve it.” 

Before he can answer, I shut the door. On him. On us. 

I walk away.

Inspired by:

_ “It's gotten late and now I want to be alone. _ _  
_ _ All of our friends were here, they all have gone home. _ _  
_ _ And here I sit on the front porch watching the drunks stumble forth into the night. _ _  
_ _ "You gave me a heart attack, I did not see you there. _ _  
_ _ I thought you had disappeared so early away from here." _ _  
_ _ And this is the chance I never got to make a move. _ _  
_ _ But we just talk about the people we've met in the last 5 years. _ _  
_ _ And will we remember them in ten more? _ __  
_ I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past. _ _  
_ __ I've tried twice before but like this, it just will not last.”

_ -Steadier Footing, Death Cab for Cutie _


	2. Angst/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz delivers a verbal smackdown of theatrical proportions. Simon's into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: obviously yelling at people isn't the ideal way to help them overcome trauma; Baz only does it because he doesn't understand what's going on at first (he gets there).

**Baz**

The door slams in my face.

I mean, I knew he was an English major, but what kind of existential, emo bullshit is he trying to pull? Although, if I’m being fair, it seems like the exact thing I would have pulled back at school (do I find the resemblance flattering?) (no, I definitely don’t) (ok, maybe a little).

Except, I’m not in high school anymore. I’m five years past-Watford. I have a  _ real job _ . I pay  _ bills _ . I pay bills  _ on time _ .

So, no, I’m not going to let Simon Snow get away with his temper tantrum. 

I’m going to throw one of my own.

**Simon**

I make it five steps back in the house when the front door slams open behind me. I flip around, hand to my hip as always (to find nothing, again). Then, in walks Baz, looking like an angel of vengeance.

“Simon Snow, you do not get to just have-a-nice-life me and walk away!” He shouts.

I hear Penny’s bedroom door open up. “What’s going on?” She calls down.

“I’m slapping some sense into your roommate; should only take a few minutes, Bunce,” He calls back.

“Ok, carry on. But maybe cast some silencing spells first. We do have neighbors,” She says, then she shuts the door to her bedroom.

So much for Penny never leaving me.

My eyes must look like saucers by now. I honestly didn’t know Baz had it in him. As he casts the silencing spells, his hair looks like it’s caught in a cinema-style wind (I’m beginning to suspect he spelled it that way, for the drama).

“Sit down,” He commands, and, I mean, I do it.

I’m not going to deny it: I am a little turned on by this, and I want to see how it all plays out.

**Baz**

At some point, I’m going to need to turn off the  **_Movie magic_ ** I spelled to make my hair look like it’s blowing in the wind. I keep having to spit out strands of it as I verbally bitch-slap Snow.

“Boo-fucking-hoo that life didn’t turn out like all of your childhood fantasies. At least you still have one,” I yell. “And I don’t want to hear your sad little stories about how everyone leaves. Have you even called Rhys or Gareth since Watford? Did you even  _ text _ ? Because, when I talked with them, they were  _ worried _ about you. They  _ miss  _ you, you stupid idiot.”

Simon is sitting, rapt, in his chair. And he keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs in a way that is making me very curious about the effect my tirade is having on him.

_ Focus, Baz, _ I remind myself. 

I continue. “Plus, in all of your complaining about the betrayal you expect to experience from anyone who gets close to you, did you ever consider how  _ demeaning  _ that is to the people who’ve chosen to fight for you? To sacrifice for you? How does that honor Ebb? Or Penny? Or,” I spit out a piece of my hair that’s worked its way into my mouth again, somewhat diminishing the build-up, but I persevere despite the hardship.

“Or what about me?” I ask. “Because I didn’t believe you  _ for a second _ when you said you’d never love me. That was some grade A bullshit if I’ve ever heard it. But I let you have your lie. I let you have your life, hoping you’d  _ make something _ of it.

“And, I mean,” I soften my voice a bit here. “You’re back in school, Simon. Which I’m proud of. I know that had to be hard for you.”

Then, I bring back the theatrics, and the volume. “But, Crowley, Snow. I’d never have left you if I thought you’d end up just like me when I was back at Watford. Wallowing in self-doubt and pity because I didn’t have the guts to own up to what I wanted. To fight for what’s worth having in life. Friends, family. Love.”

I start on how cliche I find his whole woe-is-me-because-I’ve-read-like-two-poems English major act. About how he probably uses words like ‘morose’ and thinks he’s deep.

I hope he interrupts me soon, because I’m getting tired, and that cigarette did more damage to my vocal capacity than I care to admit.

**Simon**

I could listen to him wax poetic about college cliches for another hour (maybe I should change my major?), but it’s getting late, and I’m not sure how long the silencing spells will last.

Well. There was always  _ one  _ sure-fire way to shut Baz up.

**Baz**

At some point during my speech (I think it’s right after I started talking about assholes who think reading David Foster Wallace is a whole personality), Simon gets up and starts slowly walking toward me. 

While my mouth motors on, I mark each of his steps with a slight raise of my eyebrow. I’m watching his hand, the one that used to call up the Sword of Mages. It didn’t come earlier, but I’m not sure about anything anymore, and I’ve long since stopped wishing to die at the end of Simon Snow’s blade (at least, the metal one).

Then, the hand I’m watching starts to move. It rises to my cheek and lands there. 

It occurs to me that I should stop watching his hand now. I turn my gaze to Simon, whose face is three inches from mine, whose eyes are fixed on my still-talking mouth.

“And don’t get me started on Tess of the d’Urbervilles, if I have to read one more description of a hill--”

“Can I kiss you?” He interrupts.

I sneer. “Why aren’t you already?”

Then, he puts me out of my misery.

**Simon**

I’m kissing Baz’s sneer into a smile and it’s everything. It’s deja vu, feeling like I’ve finally got something right. I pull back to pepper kisses on his crooked nose, his cheeks, his forehead.

Baz pushes me back a bit, halting my onslaught of kisses. “Sorry, I’m having whiplash from you going from ‘last call at the poetry slam’ to ‘rescued puppy gets taken to new home.’” Clearing his throat, he looks me in the eyes. “I mean, I’m not complaining. I think I have the credit score to warrant a new pet, I just want to make sure it’s not going piss all over my brand new carpet.”

I blink at him.

“Yeah,” He nods. “I know. I’ve lost the metaphor. But, in my defense, I have been talking for  _ quite  _ some time.”

“Maybe it’s my turn?” I ask. Then, I pull him up the stairs.

“Where are we going, Snow?” His voice is thick with hesitation.

“My bedroom.” Mine isn’t.

“Uh, I thought we were going to talk?”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them. “We  _ are _ .”

I mean, we’re definitely going to  _ start _ talking.

Once we get inside my door, I push him onto the bed. His eyes are wide, and I relish the surprise I’ve unleashed in his face, especially after his performance downstairs (his hair seems to be tamer now; either the spell wore off or he cast a counterspell while I was manhandling him upstairs).

Still, I check in. “This is ok, right?” I ask, as I crawl over him on the bed, until I’m straddling him by my headboard.

“Completely,” He breathes. “I mean, some context would be nice, but you know what they say about gift horses--”

“Yeah,” I interrupt. “Something about mouths.”

And then I press mine to his. Briefly. I was actually serious about us talking.

I flop down beside him. “So, context?”

He’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. I may have broken him. 

“Baz.” I poke him with my feet.

“One second. Need to recalibrate.” He takes one deep inhale, then one deep exhale. Then, he sits up in my bed, and turns to face me, crossing his legs in front of him. I mimic his position.

“Context,” He prompts.

“So.” I pause, recapturing my earlier thread. “You know those scenes in movies and television where one character is losing their mind, so their friend slaps them, and suddenly they’re like, ‘Oh geez thanks for the random act of violence; I am now cured.’” Baz nods, so I continue. “Those scenes always made me think, ‘That would absolutely  _ never _ work in real life.’” I shrug. “Except, I dunno, apparently it worked for me. The verbal slap you delivered, I mean.”

Baz is staring at me like I’m an alien. “There might actually be something wrong with you, Snow.”

I laugh. “Obviously. All I know is I’ve been in a right  _ mood _ for the past month or so. Nothing’s snapped me out of it. I’d think it was seasonal depression, but, it’s May.”

**Baz**

Why didn’t I think of this sooner? As soon as Simon says ‘seasonal depression’ it all comes back to me in a wave. Penny and I had always been so focused on Christmas as the anniversary where he’d fall apart, given the Mage and Ebb’s death, plus losing his magic and gaining an extra set of (slightly annoying, mostly gorgeous) appendages.

But Simon’s life, sad to admit, is full of more than one bout of trauma. When did he normally have his big humdrum battles? Crowley, when did he have to leave his one true home at Watford and have to go back into care?

And when did we go to America?

Summer, it’s always been in summertime.

Gambling, I go all in.

**Simon**

“Simon, can you?” Baz asks, gesturing toward his lap.

I furrow my eyebrows. “Seriously?  _ Now _ ?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “Not  _ that _ . I meant, will you put your head in my lap? I want to be close to you when I say this.”

My heart thumps into my throat at his vulnerability. I comply. He takes his hands and begins raking his fingers through my hair.

“After we broke up, I started going to therapy,” He confesses. Before I can retort, he continues. “I know! I know, you tried while we were together. But,” His hands still, and he moves his head over mine, though it’s rotated the wrong way. “Better late than never, right?”

I nod, and he starts playing with my hair again. I let my eyes close so I can focus on his words and his touch.

“My therapist taught me about the power of anniversaries, and how trauma can stem from more than just one event.” He pauses. “Simon, what has happened to you in the summertime that might be traumatic?”

I think about it, which isn’t the easiest task given his hand motions. Sensing this distraction, his hands still and move to my shoulders. A soft comforting move that lets me search my own mind, knowing I’m safe to discover what might be lurking there.

Swallowing, “Going back to the care homes.”

His hands squeeze on my shoulders. “And what about going back to the care homes might be traumatic for you?”

My heartrate takes off, and it’s suddenly more challenging to take breaths. 

“Simon,” He whispers. “Come here.” 

I shove up and curl into his lap. As his hand moves on my back in slow circles, I start crying. Ugly crying. The kind where you choke on your saliva and snot drips out of your nose and your eyes puff up. 

The exact kind of crying you don’t want to be doing on the lap of someone you love.

Except, he pulls me in tighter. He lets me use his (probably more expensive than my monthly rent) shirt as a Kleenex. He kisses the top of my head and says soothing words like, “I’ve got you, Simon.” And, “You’re safe, here.” And, “It’s ok. Let it out.”

When my tears finally still, I let out one (hopefully) final snort. “I’m disgusting,” I mutter.

“No, you’re beautiful.”

I pull back to show him the full effects of my panic attack, snot-streaked and puffy-eyed. “Oh yeah? Then say that to my face.”

**Baz**

So I say it again.

“You’re beautiful,” and I kiss his forehead.

I mean, ok, he really is kind of gross, and he’s probably ruined my favorite (very expensive) shirt with his snot, but I don’t care. In the aftermath of his tears, his eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen them. I wonder what kind of evolutionary reasoning is behind the fact that human eyes shine their brightest color after crying.

I don’t tell him any of this. Instead, I wrap my arms around him tightly, then pull back to spell him and myself clean.

“Better?” I ask.

He nods. “When did you get so smart?”

I scoff. “I’ve always been this smart.” Then, I kiss my favorite mole on his cheek. “But the therapy helped me channel it this way.”

He sighs deeply, and I feel like I can sense the weight lifting off his shoulders. “I get it now, I think. Why I always feel so,” He turns his head up to me, and smirks, “ _ Morose _ when summer approaches.” 

I flick his shoulder, and he returns the gesture by squeezing my waist. And my heart.

“Merlin, Baz. I wish I’d figured this out years ago. All the time we’ve wasted…”

Kissing the top of his head, “It takes the time it takes.” I let my lips rest on his curls, relishing the feel of them against my face. 

I don’t bring up all of the years  _ I _ wasted back at Watford because I was too afraid of rejection to tell him how I really felt.

After all of this time, we still match.

**Simon**

“So, what now?” I ask, holding Baz’s hand as we lay side by side on my bed.

“Now,” He squeezes my hand. “Now, I go home.”

By now, we’ve talked through the implications of my discovery. How I pushed Baz away after our America trip because I was so used to him being torn away from me at term’s end. How I push everyone away because I’m so used to spending the summers doubting they even  _ existed _ , being unable to talk or see anyone from my old life. How that feeling has likely infiltrated every relationship I’ve ever had.

Except Penny, who’s too stubborn to be left behind.

Penny really doesn’t get enough credit. I ought to bake her a cake. Hopefully, one where I don’t forget the vanilla extract.

Then, Baz and I talked about how this was just the beginning. That realizing this wasn’t enough to stop the pattern of behavior. That I’d likely be dealing with these feelings and impulses for longer than I’d like. Maybe, forever.

Which had made me cry. Again. I told Baz I didn’t want to be broken, anymore. Then, he kissed my lips and whispered, “Maybe, it’s not about whether or not we’re broken, Simon. Maybe it’s about what we do with the pieces.”

Which made me cry even harder. 

Because it filled me with joy. With hope. With power.

I don’t want to let Baz go, but I know he’s right. We can’t rush in this time. To make this last, we need to start slow. He’s worth it, after all.

And, I’m beginning to think I’m worth it too.

So, we get off the bed, and, hands clasped tightly together, we walk down the stairs.

I take him to the front door.

“So,” I say.

“So,” He smiles.

I’m glad he’s not sneering anymore. I definitely like his smile better.

Then, a loud thump sounds from upstairs. Again, my hand flings to my hip. Only, this time, it finds something.

**Baz**

There’s a loud noise from Penny’s room, and I fling my eyes upward. She emerges from the door, looking sheepish.

“Oh!” She gasps. “Baz, you’re still here.”

“Obviously,” I drawl.

Someone stumbles out of the bedroom behind her. It’s, of all people, Shepard.

“Hello again!” He waves. 

Penny smacks her forehead with her hand, then closes her eyes. Sighing, she reopens them, and starts leading Shepard on his walk of shame toward us.

Somehow, Simon has stayed silent this whole time.

I nudge him with my elbow. “Your roommate got laid, and you’re not taking the piss?” I whisper.

He’s staring at something in his hand.

Penny, Shepard and I clue in at the same time.

“Cool! A sword,” Shepard exclaims.

At the same time, “It came to you!” Penny gasps.

“Aw fuck,” I mutter.

They all look at me, even Simon.

“What?” I shrug. “ _ You’re _ not the ones who had wet nightmares that Simon would end your life with that thing.”

Penny mouths ‘wet nightmares’ and I give her with my best, ‘You shut your damn mouth, Bunce’ look. Then, for good measure and added blackmail, I give her a once over. She looks good and shagged. Her face blushes. She keeps her mouth shut. 

During Penny and my silent exchange, Shepard’s made his way to Simon, and the two of them are going over the sword. Simon’s explaining the significance of it, and Shepard’s nodding along (and probably making mental notes about the whole thing).

Simon turns to me, eyes gleaming. “I didn’t think it’d come back to me without my magic,” He smiles. “I thought,” His grin falters a bit. “I thought, since it only comes to those it trusts…”

I place my arms on his shoulders. “Simon, trust goes both ways. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the sword’s always trusted you, only, you didn’t trust yourself?”

He gulps, and wraps me in his arms. 

I want to appreciate this, I do. But his sword is way too close to my body for comfort. I clear my throat until Simon gets the hint.

“Sorry,” He says, though the breadth of his grin is making it hard to believe the sentiment. 

He turns to Penny. “Ring a bell for me, yeah?”

She cocks her head in confusion, but complies. 

On the  _ ding _ , his wings tear out of his shirt and his tail snakes from behind his back. Like old times, the tail immediately wraps around my wrist. I blink away the tears this elicits. It’s silly, but I’ve always loved how his tail is drawn to me because it feels instinctual. The same way I’m drawn to Simon.

I tear my gaze away from his tail and my wrist’s emotional rejoining, to take in the full sight of Simon Snow. He looks like a winged avenger, his red wings spread behind him, coating his messy curls with a red hue. He’s holding the sword up in the air, and he fixes his gaze on me.

My breath catches in my throat. He’s beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

I can’t believe he’s mine. Again.

“See,” He says, nose in the air. “I can do drama, too, Baz.”

The bastard had to one-up me. But I’ll let him get away with it. This time.

At some point, we realize we’re all just standing around watching a dragon-boy play with his sword. Even Shepard seems ready to go. Penny shuffles him out the door, then heads up to her room. Standing in her doorway, she gives Simon one last fond look, then turns it on me as well. 

“Welcome back, Baz,” She smiles. Then, she closes the door behind her.

Simon’s so busy with his sword, he seems to have forgotten I’m in the room with him. That bloody sword. I pout against the door until he notices me.

“Oh,” He says. Then, he disappears it into his hip. He gives me a curious look, then sends his hand back to his hip again. The sword rematerializes. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sends the sword back once more. “Sorry, Baz. I had to check.”

He walks over to me, and fully embraces me, arms, wings, tail and all. “I hate to let you go. I’m afraid of what happens when that door closes behind you.”

“What happens,” I say, taking his hand in mine, then bringing it to my lips for a kiss, “Is that we take things one step at a time. Hopefully, with steadier footing this time.”

He grins at me, gives my whole body one last squeeze, and then we let each other go. When he finally, reluctantly, closes the door behind me, I don’t find the sound jarring at all. Unlike before, it feels like a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I'm not done with this story, so stay tuned for an epilogue.
> 
> Also, I’m thrilled I got to finally include two of my favorite pieces of advice: it takes the time it takes, and it’s not about being broken but what you do with the pieces.
> 
> Also also, glad I got to use my headcanon that the Sword of Mages has nothing to do with magic, but trust.


	3. Pure, Unadulterated Fluff

**EPILOGUE-Three years later**

**Simon**

I didn’t mean for drinks at the local pub to end up a weekly Watford reunion, but I suppose that’s what it is (with the addition of Shepard, of course) (that boy could weasel his way into any circle) (but, like a friendly weasel) (a weasel in the best way). 

Baz and Penny come every time, of course. Penny’s still with Shepard, and they’ve never been stronger (breaking a curse together will do that). She’s teaching at Watford, and her mother is grooming her for the headmaster position. I always thought that was something Baz might enjoy, but he likes his Normal job, which I still don’t understand (he explained it to me five times before giving up). 

He actually did befriend his Polly Pocket coworker (Bill), and we frequent his house for crawfish boils (which is apparently a cajun thing) (I think I’m at least part cajun because they drown the crawfish in butter while Baz watches with horror and I watch with drool). His daughters are every bit the precocious nightmares they sounded like in Baz’s story. They call us Uncle Baz and Uncle Simon and it makes my heart squeeze every time. We give them Polly Pockets every Christmas, even though I think they’re too old for them now.

Rhys and Gareth come regularly, on my invite; Baz hasn’t had to remind me in over a year. Gareth’s belt buckle spells are less garish than before. He’s dating a Normal girl, so he had to subdue his thrusts (though, I’ve seen him spell around her before and I think she actually likes them). Rhys is married now, with a baby on the way. He’ll probably stop coming regularly, but he said he’d host a few get-togethers at his house so we can all spend time with the little one. Previous me, the one before Baz’s theatrical intervention, would have been afraid of this change. But I can see it’s a good thing. He’s not leaving, he’s growing his family. And, by extension, ours as well.

Dev and Niall, who have only recently stopped calling me ‘Chosen One,’ have come to every gathering since we first started. At first, they basically had to be dragged kicking and screaming, but I actually think they like it now. It’s isolating, being a mage in the real world after Watford. I wouldn’t know, since I’m not technically a mage anymore, but I like that they feel a sense of belonging with us. They’re both still single, but it seems to be by choice. At least, neither of them have signed up for Magickal Tours of Britain yet.

Penny started inviting Agatha when she moved back to London a year or so ago, but she only comes when the mood strikes her (which isn’t very often). I think she’s still weirded out by me and Baz, but she did come to Baz’s last birthday party. So, progress. She’s still very anti-mage; I think our pub meetups are the only contact she has with magic, except for her family. But she’s never seemed happier. It’s ironic that I ended up without magic, which she wants nothing to do with, and we’re still way better friends than we’d ever been as a couple (something I still have to reassure Baz about every time she shows up at the pub) (but reassuring Baz means snogging, so I’m happy to do it).

On occasion, Trixie and Keris pop by, which I really appreciate. It’s still hard for me to be ‘out’ in public, so having them at our table really soothes me, because it keeps me from feeling more like an anomaly than I already am (still going strong with my devil wings). Baz and I even attend London Pride yearly with them, which is always a crazy time--my tail is always very popular (I’ve decided LGBTQIA+ includes dragons). I still don’t have a label for myself (it drives Baz nuts--on the day I figure my sexuality out, I don’t think I’ll tell him) (gotta keep some things interesting in a long-term relationship).

One time, Philippa actually joined us. She did eventually get her voice back, but she was never interested in rejoining magickal society, which is why she never came back to Watford. Of all things, she became a speech therapist, which I love. After a long, drunken heart-to-heart, she forgave Baz. They text occasionally; Baz’s youngest brother has a speech impediment, and Philippa helped him find some resources.

I’m still on track to graduate with a degree in English, much to Baz’s chagrin. I never thought I’d be the type to make my way in the world through words, given how challenging it’s always been for me to find them, but I feel more myself than ever before. It’s taken me a long time to get here, but, like Baz said to me that night when I changed my life, “It takes the time it takes.”

And tonight, it’s time.

I should wait until after I graduate. I should wait until I’ve at least finished the draft of my first book (‘I Didn’t Mean To Do That But It Worked Out Brilliantly’--my memoir). I should wait for a lot of things, but I’m done waiting.

I can’t stand one more day without Baz knowing he’s my forever.

I’m sitting at our usual table with an ace up my sleeve. Baz’s family are spelled hidden throughout the pub (Penny and Fiona helped), which I’ve rented out for the night (Mr. Grimm helped there). Everyone came out tonight, even Philippa and Agatha, and they all promise to stay hidden until I give the signal.

So, when Baz arrives, it looks like we’re the only two people in the whole pub. He raises an eyebrow, and my heart stops. If I do this right, I’m going to see that eyebrow raise every day until I die. 

I can’t wait.

He walks over to the booth. “Simon, where is everyone?”

My heart starts racing. It just dawns on me that everyone Baz and I love is in this room.

Oh Merlin. Everyone we love is in this room and he might say, ‘No.’

Except, there’s no time to dwell on that. I pull a Simon and stop thinking about the consequences (and hope, like my memoir title, that everything will work out brilliantly). 

Baz takes my hand in his before I can. “Are you ok? Your heart is racing.”

Shit. I didn’t think about this, either. How he doesn’t know everyone can hear him, and might say something he wouldn’t want just anyone to know. Something that gives away his, um, “iron deficiency.”

“Promise you won’t say anything for the next five minutes or so,” I beg.

That’ll cover it.

**Baz**

Simon is acting very, very strange. His heart is beating so fast I think it might explode. In fact, this whole situation is bizarre. I’ve never seen the pub so empty, yet I can hear the heartbeats of at least twenty people. Come to think of it, I can smell different people, like Penelope, and Shepard, and… Fiona? But I don’t see anyone. I have no clue what’s going on.

Then, Simon gets down on one knee.

“No,” I say, before I can stop myself.

I can actually hear his heart stop. 

“Oh!” I exclaim. “Oh no, no.” I kneel down beside him. “No, I mean.” I sigh, and gather him into my arms (which is more than a little awkward, kneeling people aren’t easy to hug). “Simon,” I whisper in his ear. “I was planning to propose to  _ you _ .”

I’ve been planning the event for months now. A part of me thought I should wait until he graduated, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t spend another second without him knowing I want him for all eternity.

He laughs in my ear, and I forgive the scheming bastard. “Maybe,” He pulls back. “Maybe we can both propose to each other?”

“Ok,” I concede. “But who goes first?”

Rolling his eyes, I hear him mutter, “Competitive bastard.” Then, in a louder voice, “Since I’m already on my knee, can I finish what I’ve started?”

I nod, then wait. He stares at me, and then flicks his eyes upward. Oh, right. I stand up.

He clears his throat, “Baz.” Crowley, I want to say, ‘Yes’ just at hearing my name in his mouth. “If the crucible hadn’t cast us together, I don’t know if I’d ever have picked you.”

Ok, not what I expected. I resist crossing my arms, but only because he’s taken my hands in his. Rubbing little circles on my knuckles with his thumb, he gives me this look like, ‘Be patient, I’m making a point.’ So I let him.

“You’re sarcastic, moody, and not a small pain in my ass.”

At this I actually pull at his grasp, but he holds me still, rolling his eyes. I’m stronger than him, I could get away. But I don’t really want to.

“But, then again, when have I ever known what’s right for me?” He laughs. “I’m glad the crucible saw what I couldn’t, that under the shell of an arrogant, closed off prick,” He winks at me here, just to stop the scowl growing on my face (although it proceeds, undaunted), “Beats the heart of the most loving person I’ve ever met.”

Ugh. My stupid soft heart melts a little. So does my scowl.

“Baz,” He says, squeezing my hands. “I used to live life with my eyes closed. Following what others expected of me; a chosen one without any choice. Until you showed me there’s so much more to the world than I could imagine, if only I would open my eyes to its possibility.

“I know our path together hasn’t always been the smoothest, and we’ve had more than our fair share of obstacles to get to this point, but I’m grateful to every stupid obstacle. Because we’ve proven we can overcome anything and come out stronger on the other end. That we can come out together.”

I raise an eyebrow at this, and he mouths, ‘Not like that’. I mouth back, ‘Get on with it,’ but the punch of my command is lessened by the stupid grin I can’t shake. He beams back.

“Baz,” He says again, and every time it sounds more and more like a prayer I want to answer. “You’re everything I didn’t know I wanted, but couldn’t imagine my life without. You’re the person I want to come home to every evening. You’re the reason I want to get out of bed in the morning. You’ve loved me for so long, and I know I can’t make up the time you spent without its return, but I can promise you my love, all my love, for as long as you want it.”

He looks up at me, expectantly. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Not yet.

I clear my throat. “My turn?” I ask.

**Simon**

Of course he’s not going to just say, ‘Yes.’ God forbid Baz leave any conversation, let alone  _ my _ proposal to  _ him _ , without having the last word.

Christ, I love him so much. Enough to let him propose to me while he’s standing and I’m still kneeling (of course he has to be taller for his portion of the proposal) (he does enjoy me while I’m on my knees, after all).

“Simon,” He says. “I’ve loved you since the moment I learned of romantic love. I thought it would kill me, loving you. Instead, your love brought me to life.”

Fuck. I’m gonna cry before this is over, aren’t I? He can’t throw in a few laugh lines like I did? Just to give my heart one moment of relief from the beautiful agony he’s pulling it through?

“I spent too many years loving you hopelessly. Until, in one brilliant Simon Snow moment of impulse, you taught me that nothing is impossible. Not even the chosen one, choosing me.

“Loving you hopelessly may have been an exercise in patience, but having your love has taught me bravery. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. While I’d like to blame your complete and utter lack of foresight for it, I know that you’d damn all of the known consequences just to follow your heart. Even if it means one-upping me on my proposal.”

Finally, I get my laugh, though it does nothing to stem the tears welling up in my eyes.

“There was a time where I thought saving your life would be my final act on this mortal plane. Instead, I’m asking you to spend yours with me. I always thought that, like my mother, I’d propose by hanging the moon. However, I have something a little more Simon in mind.”

He pulls his phone out. After a few moments of him working, I hear a soft  _ ding _ . My wings and tail respond immediately, my wings spreading dramatically and my tail finding its way to Baz’s wrist as always (I know I shouldn’t be jealous of my own tail, but the look on Baz’s face when it wraps around him always makes me feel a bit left out). After making googly eyes at my tail for way too long, he finally looks at me, and extends his wand. I never thought I’d see this expression on his face, but it’s almost sheepish? 

“ **_Even dragons have their ending_ ** ,” He spells, and on his back spreads a beautiful pair of black, bat-like wings (ohmygodbatwings). I’m wishing I could see Penny’s face when suddenly a ropey, black tail with a red spade at the end of it wraps itself around my wrist.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Ok, now I get the look on Baz’s face.

I tear my eyes away from his tail (Baz’s tail!!) to look in his eyes.

“I wanted us to match,” He whispers. “They’re only temporary but--”

I stop his mouth with my mouth, pressing firmly into him with a force that sends us up against the nearest wall. Our tails ( _ our _ tails!) wrap around each other, our wings ( _ our _ wings!) flutter in the air, and our tongues. Well. 

I’m moaning in his mouth and pressing the full length of my body against his when I hear several coughs and some throat clearing.

Ah. Yes. Ah hem. I’d forgotten we had an audience.

“Oh, uh, surprise?” I say, and that’s the signal for the entire gathering to unspell themselves from their hiding spots.

**Baz**

I mean, would it have been a real Simon Snow proposal if it  _ didn’t _ end with wings, tails, and an inappropriate boner or two exposed to the entirety of our loved ones?

Resisting the urge to adjust myself, Simon and I wave awkwardly at our audience, who, to their credit, are pretending they didn’t just witness monster foreplay. Except Fiona, who I think recorded the whole thing on her cellphone while muttering, “Oh this’ll go viral for sure.”

I jab Simon with my elbow, but he just grins back at me like this was his plan the whole time. 

“Uh?” Shepard raises his hand, like he’s in first year. 

“ _ What? _ ” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Neither one of you said yes?”

**Simon**

In the end, neither of us say yes. Baz whispers, “Forever,” as the answer to how long he’ll want my love, and I whisper, “Always,” as the answer to whether or not we match. Unlike the rest of the proposal, we keep these confessions to ourselves. Some things ought to be kept private, just between two husbands-to-be.

The night becomes a blur of well-wishes as Baz and I split to cover the room, greeting our guests and accepting their congratulations (though we send dreamy eyes at each other whenever possible).

When we finally get a second to ourselves, I ask Baz where he came up with the dragon quote.

“Tolkein,” He says, as if that should have been obvious. “The Hobbit, specifically. The whole quote is, ‘So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.’ Bilbo says this at the end of the book, signifying the end of their adventure.”

“Fitting,” I grin. “Although, I’m hopeful ours is just beginning.”

He rolls his eyes. “Haven’t we had enough adventure for a lifetime?"

“Probably,” I admit, drawing him closer to me, letting our wings rest against each other. Our tails wrap around our respective wrists. I hope he’s willing to bring this spell back, often. Possibly in bed.

Smirking, he says, “You know, Bilbo’s next line is, ‘I wish now only to be in my own arm-chair!’”

“Substitute ‘arm-chair’ with bed, and I’m with him,” I wink.

“With  _ me _ ,” He corrects, bumping his shoulder against mine.

I laugh. “Irish goodbye?”

His eyes gleaming, “Irish goodbye.”

And we slip out of the bar without another word, hand in hand. 

Together, forever and always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, I did not expect this to write this long of an epilogue. Hope you all enjoyed?
> 
> A few notes:  
> \- crawfish boils are real, they are loaded with butter, and I hate them as much as Baz would (but, butter, so, Simon).  
> \- the coworker yelling about Polly Pockets while at work story is also real; happened to my husband.  
> \- regarding Simon's memoir title: I keep a list of possible memoir titles on my phone, and this was one of them, and OMG it fit so beautifully I had to include it).  
> \- Baz's proposal is not his final draft; remember, he had to wing it (hah) because he wasn't planning to propose that exact night.
> 
> [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/facewithoutheart), if you want.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/facewithoutheart) where I lurk and generally abuse the platform because I have no idea what I'm doing <3


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